


There Can’t Just be One

by BitterRenegade



Series: Jumping through the Timelines [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Avengers Need a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-02-10 19:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18666499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterRenegade/pseuds/BitterRenegade
Summary: There’s no such thing as a world without loss. It’s a natural part of life, a part of which you know very well. So many timelines, so many possibilities, so much life and so much death.Because in the end, there was no such thing as one definite reality.Taking requests, mostly writing Reader x various marvel characters. Currently no Endgame Spoilers, but, uh, don’t read this if you haven’t seen infinity war





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please Read!
> 
> On Tumblr I have 2 blogs. BitterRenegade and Aizawaismyspiritanimal. I take most, if not all, of my requests on there.
> 
> Basically I kept thinking back to Infinity War when Strange looked through millions of futures and only saw 1 where they succeeded. Bullshit! There are so many variables and things that could change the future. I know that there won’t ever be such thing as a perfect happy ending which Mass Effect 3 taught me, so there will always be something at least a little bit sad MAYBE hinted.
> 
> Anyways, this is basically a oneshot dump looking into all the different readers and their relationships with the other characters in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. If anyone wants to make a request, send me a private message or a request on either of my tumblrs! 
> 
> Anyways, it’s late on my side of the world so imma pass out and then look at this again tomorrow

There’s no such thing as a world without loss. It’s a natural part of life, a part of which you know very well. So many timelines, so many possibilities, so much life and so much death.

Because in the end, there was no such thing as one  _ definite _ reality. Each person’s reality was their own, but anything could change. Anything or anyone, at any time could follow a different path. In some, you remembered. In others you had no idea. Sometimes you died young, other times you would grow old. Your look changed, your likes, dislikes, interests, friends, lovers… hell, even your gender and sexuality would change. So many variables, all of them altering the universe and making you just as much  _ not  _ you as they made you, well…  _ you. _

In some timelines you were more than  _ just _ human. When you had powers. Where the journey of self-discovery had gifted you with opportunities or completely destroyed your life. Chance encounters that could take you to other realms, enemies that could become allies. Companions that could turn on you at a moment’s notice…

In the world, there would always be loss and hate and pain, but there would also be gain and love and comfort. For you, for everyone; there were so many possibilities. So many  _ futures _ .

There couldn’t just be  _ one _ where Thanos failed.


	2. Ghosts in your eyes (Stephen Strange x Reader)

It _hurts_ and you can feel it, a hand around your throat as you flail and kick out and struggle and _you can’t breath. You_ ** _can’t breath_** _,_ LET **_GO_** _!_ Next thing you know you’re hitting the hard floor, tears falling from your eyes as you gasp for air you can’t quite hold on to. A hand rests on your back and your heart nearly stops with fear until you see the gentle blue eyes of your mentor.

 

“You’re not breathing,  _ breath _ ,” he instructs. “Deep breaths, _______. Deep breaths.” Still crying, gasps slowing to shaky deep breaths, your fingers clutch at the heavy blue robes of Doctor Stephen Strange as he helped you recover from your panic attack. There was no judgement in his expression, his posture. Just understanding. “Do you need anything?”

 

“Don’t leave me alone,” you practically beg, gripping his robes tighter. “Please, St-strange. I’m sorry. I don’t… I just…”

 

His lips quirk upwards, his blue eyes sad. “It’s okay, I’ll stay.” He pulls you closer to him, a comfort that the two of you wouldn’t normally indulge in. There was normally more distance between the two of you: Stephen’s by choice and yours by reluctant understanding. Even as his apprentice you had no reason to be excessively close to the Sorcerer Supreme, and the Sorcerer Supreme knew how talented he was at ruining his relationships with people he cared about. But at that moment, with you shaking and fearful of an existence where the life was choked out of you and Stephen had only been able to watch…

 

Leaving you to recover alone was not an option in any universe.

 

“... Hey, Teach?” Your voice is soft, small, and he doesn’t even correct you like he normally does. “Do you ever think about when Dormammu killed you?”

 

“Which time?” The older man jokes lightly, then sighs when you don’t chastise him for avoiding the question. Clearly not the time to joke. “Sometimes I do, yes.”

 

You hum, resting your head against his shoulder and flinching when Cloak wraps itself around the both of you. “Do you remember your deaths clearly?”

 

“... Why do you ask?”

 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you mumble tiredly,  loosening your grip on his robes. “... I’m sorry.”

 

“I did what I had to do. You don’t need to apologize for it.”

 

You shake your head into his shoulder, holding back more tears. “But who else  _ will _ ?”

 

Stephen’s hold on you tightens for a moment, shifting and making you meet his eyes. “I will.” For a fraction of a second his gaze drops down to your lips, then back to your eyes, and finally, he presses his lips to your forehead, shaky fingers combing through your hair. “Never apologize for something you didn’t do.” The man pulls away at that, and you finally let him go, instead wringing your hands together and looking anywhere but him.

 

“So, Strange… in how many alternate timelines did you end up  _ actually  _ kissing me?”

 

“A kiss on the forehead  _ is _ an actual kiss.”

 

“Okay, a kiss on the lips then.”

 

“Not answering that.”

 

“That’s all the answer I needed,” and even with reddened eyes and tear stained cheeks you smile, snickering, ready to tease. “You looooove me!”

 

Stephen scowls. “I regret everything.” Cloak pulls away at that, only to shove the two of you back together. “Cloak, quit it.”

 

You peer up at the man, expression coy. “In how many realities does Cloak quit it?”

 

The Sorcerer groans.


	3. Muscle Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teleportation Reader
> 
> No pairing (Or obvious pairing?)
> 
> Different from the version I posted on tumblr because I walked into a writing club at school (for the first time) and ended up walking out with a better version and also became an executive of said club?

The first time it happens, it’s like you can feel  _ everything _ . As if you were right next to the fan set up to help with the smoke, the breeze hitting you close; but also on the other side of the room, no breeze, just warm. And it feels  _ wrong _ . Everything feels wrong, and you don’t know why. You’d tried telling your friends about it, and they comforted you while sounding close and far away at the same time. “It’s just a bad high.” They soothed. “You’re going to be fine.” Because, of course, you only started feeling like that after literally the worst, most embarrassing use of your friend’s bong ever.  And the feeling and the sound of everything, it’s so scary, and it’s hard to tell where you are. It takes a bit, but the feeling eventually passes the longer people talk to you. Everything stops feeling like everything, your friends are close, rubbing your back in circles. And you feel grounded, rooted in place. It’s  _ normal _ , and you feel perfectly  _ fine _ . And you swear to yourself that you are never, ever, going to smoke from a bong again. Or smoke in general, because your throat feels too dry and it hurts and gosh, you’re tired. 

 

The next time it happens, you know it’s not normal, and you know it’s not fine because you’re at home, alone, and you hadn’t touched weed in weeks. You can feel and see and hear the world around you, as though you’re under your blankets but also in the kitchen and the bathroom and in the middle of the living room and, hell, like you’re jumping off the couch but haven’t hit the ground yet. Everything is spinning, and you feel like you’re lying down, and standing up, and your feet are on the ceiling except they aren’t, and you only snap out of it when your cat, a sweet, loving fluff ball meows loud and quiet, soft, and harsh, and somehow you manage to hold your arms open instead of hugging yourself; they jump into your arms and then everything stops moving and feeling like too much; the sandpaper licks on your cheeks keeping you in place. Keeping you in the living room, next to the cat tree with your pet purring against your chest.

 

But you know for a fact that you hadn’t tried to move at all. That you were just sitting at your desk working on homework. It’s frightening and new, and it still feels wrong, but you set up a camera in the garage and in the living room with all the blinds down the next time you’re home alone. You actively try to feel the awful way that would hit you so randomly. And it takes a while. With lots of practice, and trial and error, and a healthy side of disbelief. And suddenly being in the garage and then not, and then in the closet, and then in your bedroom without taking a single step. Without moving a muscle. Then, it clicks.

 

You can teleport.

 

At first you think you’re crazy. There’s no way you have a superpower. That would be insane! And after a couple months of practice, the awful feeling isn’t awful anymore. Still a bit disorienting, and confusing, and hard to explain, but it doesn’t feel  _ awful _ . Internally, you joke about how you have stockholm syndrome for your superpower. But now, all that’s left to do is to decide what to do. And, like any hot headed idiot would do, the decision was to try and be like the Avengers. To try and help people in danger and be a superhero. Probably foolishly, you figured that if things got too scary or dangerous, you could just teleport away. 

 

Things could never actually be that simple.

 

On the same day that you decided to be all heroic, and cool like your idols, the news is talking about Ultron. And it’s scary, and you don’t know what to do. And then you feel awful like the first time you teleported, and suddenly you’re throwing up on the floor of a ruined building with a group of frightened little kids staring at you with wide eyes. You don’t know what triggered the teleportation or why it had been so specific because you had  _ never _ been there before, nor had you teleported to a place you hadn’t known, but suddenly you were there. You were there with the ruined buildings and the screaming and shattered glass and you knew that you had to help. The decision was made; you needed to do something. Shaking off the nausea you straightened up and stepped towards the kids.There were four of them in total, all looking between the ages of six and twelve. “We need to get you guys out of here,” you told them seriously, praying that you sounded more confident that you felt. “Let’s go.”

 

So you led them out of the crumbling building only to see chaos outside. A large piece of rubble was falling towards you, and the loud cries of the kids caused your instincts to kick in and raise your hands to touch the rubble. Heart hammering in your chest, your arms felt like they had nearly been pulled out of their sockets, and the piece that nearly crushed all of you had instead fallen just out of range of your group. After that you used your ability to teleport smaller chunks of debris just above nearby robots to slow them down and keep them away from the ones you were trying to protect. The eldest of the kids carried the youngest on his back, and you felt a rush of relief as you neared the evacuation area. A man there, wielding a bow, watched the group of you with only a brief look of confusion before helping the kids onto a vehicle that you only later learned was called a Helicarrier. Before you could get swept up with all the others, you felt yourself fall. Or at least, it felt like falling. One blink and suddenly, you were mere  _ feet _ away from Captain-fucking-America who looked at you like you had two heads. “What the—“ Your nausea cut him off, sentence interrupted by the sounds of you hurling the contents of your stomach into the ruined concrete. Thankfully, while you recovered the once-frozen war hero proceeded to take out a few enemies that had attempted to take advantage of the momentary distraction that was you. True to his reported kind nature, the blonde man rubbed circles into your back as you coughed, glancing up to peer into his blue eyes tearily. “It’s okay,” he spoke certainly, calmly, as though you weren’t in the middle of such a horrifying situation. “Can you move? I need to get you somewhere safe.”

 

His hand on your back made you feel grounded yet  _ not _ at the same time. Like your first bad high. Throat dry and unable to answer him, your skin felt like it was hot and cold, like you were being blasted with wind and buried under rubble all at once. It was something like an unending disorientation and you didn’t know what to do. And for the first time in a long time, the realization that you didn’t have any control of your power kicked in, and as soon as that thought crossed your mind you had moved the both of you from one part of the city to another. 

 

...And then you promptly passed out.

 

You’re not too sure when you woke up, laying in a hospital bed in another place you’d never been before with an IV sticking out of your arm and bandages wrapped over injuries that you had no memory receiving. But shortly after your consciousness was confirmed, you were formally introduced to a few key members of the Avengers.

“So,” Iron Man AKA Tony Stark began to speak. The billionaire leaned against a table nearby with a playful expression on his face. “Teleportation, huh? How’d you figure that out?”

 

You glanced between him and Captain America, feeling a bit on edge and extremely flustered. “I… I don’t know if I can say it in front of Captain America.”

 

Ever the sweetheart, Steve Rogers smiled at you in a way that could only be described as angelic. “I carried you across a city. I think you can tell me.” He uncrossed his arms. “It can’t be  _ that _ bad.”

 

The guilt was unbearable. You could still remember scrolling through your feed and laughing with your friends about the ‘Don’t do drugs’ PSA that Captain America had filmed. Covering your face with your hands, you wished that your superpower had been invisibility instead. Or that you were feeling well enough to teleport out of… wherever you were. “Um… so I was using my friend’s bong...”


End file.
